


Adventures from SHIELD Mid-West

by sevdrag (seventhe)



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Boats and Ships, Choose Your Own Adventure, Comedy, Gen, Kidnapping, Rescue Missions, of errors mostly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28858782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhe/pseuds/sevdrag
Summary: Clint wakes up on a boat, in the rain, with people shooting at him and the Winter Soldier driving. Technically he's being kidnapped, but Clint feels like there's a lot more going on -- and he's going to find out.A choose-your-own-adventure starring Clint Barton and putting him through the wringer as per voter requests!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Adventures from SHIELD Mid-West

**Author's Note:**

> So: one of the things I do to thank people who help support me is this -- a choose your own adventure story where votes decide what happens next! I'm loathe to bring that onto this platform but if you'd like to help or get involved you can read about it [here](https://sevdrag.tumblr.com/post/640763140798349312/patreon-choose-your-own-adventures) and [here](https://seventhe.dreamwidth.org/435490.html). 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the adventures of Clint Barton at SHIELD Mid-West, and know that a whole bunch of crazy Marvel fans are voting on how this goes. I'm just the messenger!

Clint wakes up on a boat.

Of course he knows it’s a boat. He’s _great_ at boats. Normally, that is. At the moment, he’s lying on his side, hog-tied, and his face feels like he might have run into a wall. It’s sad that he recognizes the sensation. 

The boat turns sharply into a wave, and Clint does his best to brace himself with the thigh and arm that are braced against the gritty surface of the bottom, but he still ends up being slid across the boat and into the sidewall. 

“Aw, come _on!”_ Clint yells, and decides that he’s already been tied up for thirty seconds too long. He gives the knots a respectable B-, because it’s a bit of a challenge to him, and would be pretty difficult for anyone who hadn’t grown up having to escape all kinds of knotwork done up by his fellow circus workers. 

Once he’s loose, he manages to stand up. He’s in the back of the boat, and it’s raining - of course - and a quick glance around tells him there’s nobody trying to kill him at the moment, which is a big plus. 

What he’s doing on the boat remains a mystery.

Clint hunches back down, and holds onto the wall as the boat tilts again. He can see another figure up at the wheel, but it’s too dark to tell who the frig it is. He doesn’t have his bow, but a quick check confirms the blade in his boot is still there. Sweet. 

Now to do some subtle recon. Who’s driving?

“Yo,” Clint bellows, because subtle recon is for suckers and Natasha. “Somebody wanna give me a sitrep here?”

“Get _down,_ Barton,” a familiar voice yells back, and Clint realizes two things simultaneously.

First, that there’s someone chasing them. The gunshots make that pretty obvious. Clint hisses a bad word; his initial recon was only checking for enemies _on the boat._ Who the hell is shooting at him?

Second, it’s Bucky, up at the wheel. Fucking Bucky Barnes. Clint is never gonna live this down. He’s been - rescued? - by a small angry man with greasy hair and a cyborg arm. Cool.

“The hell is going on, Barnes?” Clint crawls forward. He isn’t exactly looking to be shot at again, but the sensation of crawling up to Bucky Barnes is… Clint is not a fan. “Wanna tell me why I woke up here in ropes?”

“Shit,” says Bucky, throwing him a sideways glance before sharply turning the boat again. “Of course you’re out of the ropes. Damnit, Barton.”

“What,” Clint asks, incredulous. “You want me to put them back on?”

“Yeah, if you would,” Bucky yells sarcastically as the motor revs. “I’m technically kidnapping you.”

Clint knows his mouth is gaping and that rain is going _into his mouth_ and it tastes kind of weird, but that was the last thing he was expecting to hear. 

“Why the hell are you kidnapping me, Barnes?”

“I had to get you out of there,” Bucky yells. “They were gonna do some real damage to you, Barton.”

“So you fake kidnapped me?” Clint yelps. He’s crawled his way up until he’s beside Bucky on the desk. Barnes looks pissed as _fuck._

“No,” Bucky yells at him. “I actually kidnapped you, you idiot. Nat texted me. And I have no idea what was going on in that lunchroom when I got there, either.”

Lunchroom? Oh, Clint’s starting to remember through the headache. “What the fuck,” he says, groaning as a big bruise on the back of his skull makes itself known. “Is it Collins? _Is it seriously Collins.”_

“Think so.” Bucky makes another hard turn. Usually Clint’s great at directions - and boats - but he’s so discombobulated they could be in China for all he knows. “The hell did you do to that guy, anyway?”

“Collins?” Clint yells. “I stole his sandwich out of the fridge, okay? I was freaking _starving_ and I had _no cash._ And Nat had locked up the gummy bears. Is he seriously shooting me because I stole his sandwich?”

Clint’s thoroughly soaked at this point and equally thoroughly miserable. Fucking Barnes. Fucking boats. Fucking sandwiches.

“Well, when I showed up, he was pounding the shit out of you for some reason.” Bucky throws him a grin. “Five on one without your bow’s not good odds, Hawkeye.”

“Well, forgive me for not expecting a _rear assault_ from a SHIELD coworker!” Clint yells, fed up with all of this. At least the gunshots have stopped; that’s a good sign. “Have you lost them yet?”

“Maybe?” Bucky glances around. “I can’t see in all this fuckin’ rain, asshole.”

Clint wants to yell _my eyes are so good I could hit a fish with an arrow in this,_ but what comes out of his mouth is, “I have eyes!” So, he’s still a bit groggy. Whatever.

Ignoring Bucky’s grumbling stream of sarcasm, Clint peers over the edge of the boat. It’s that kind of misty rain, where it’s light and small but _everywhere._ “Yeah, there’s someone back there,” he yells, “but if I can barely see them, they can’t see us.”

He takes the opportunity to glance around a bit. He can see a shoreline on the left, just a broad slash of dark through the haze. “The fuck are we, Barnes?”

“We’re on a lake,” Bucky says confidently, as if he’s so absolutely sure of that fact he’d swear it on a bible.

“What friggin’ lake?” Clint’s trying to remember the map, the mission briefing. He and Nat don’t often deploy out to SHIELD Mid-West, mainly because it’s just outside Cleveland, and nobody in their right mind ever goes to Cleveland willingly. “Like Lake Erie? The big lake? Or like a lake in the Wetlands kind of lake?”

“We,” Bucky repeats, just as confident as before but with an edge to it this time, “are on _a lake._ ”

Jesus. The only reason people deploy out to SHIELD Mid-West is to use the complex boat-and-river system of the Great Lakes as a starting point to vanish for secret missions. He and Nat were supposed to cut over to Canada and then fly out to Scotland for some kind of Hydra treasure hunt. “How long have we been out here?”

“Couple hours,” Bucky says. His jaw is set, hard. It’s a decent look on him, really, if he weren’t so… _Barnes._

“Okay. Well.” It doesn’t seem like Bucky has any kind of plan. “This seems like an opportunity to lose them. We can head out further into the water, hope they don’t follow, or we can make it to that shore and hope we haven’t landed in West Bumfuck.”

Bucky shoots him a look that’s so annoyed Clint has to grin, because annoying Bucky Barnes is one of his absolute favorite things to do, ever. Even on a boat, being chased by Collins, out on A Lake: it always makes Clint feel better.

“I’m not taking this boat out any farther than I have to,” Bucky tells him, and they’re soon aimed towards the dark shadow of land. It makes sense; if Bucky doesn’t even know what lake this is, they’ll have better luck on land. Wherever they are. God, Clint hopes it isn’t fucking Michigan.

While Bucky drives, Clint takes stock of the boat. There are two lifejackets (unnecessary), a raincoat (too late), and a fire extinguisher (okay?) in the cupboards under the bench seating. Making his way into the tiny-ass cabin - seriously, Bucky might be okay with this, but Clint is not a short greasy robot - he narrowly avoids banging his head as he glances around. Thank god they aren’t staying on the boat: there’s one tiny-ass bed that _might_ fit Bucky if he curled up like a pillbug, a commode that has really seen better days, and a plastic chair that only has three legs. Okay, then. Great.

He emerges from below with a bunch of things wrapped up in the tarp he pulled out from under a very questionable sink. He isn’t sure what they’ll find when they reach land, so he’s grabbed a lot of random junk, but whatever. Bucky could have used an _ounce_ of planning in kidnapping him, anyway. Not Clint’s fault. 

Now that they’re approaching the shoreline, Clint notices that there isn’t much else to see. It’s grey through the mist, mostly coastal rocks with patches of uncomfortable-looking pebbly beach inbetween. “Look for some bigger rocks,” he yells at Bucky. “Maybe we can hide the boat.”

“Bigger rocks,” says Bucky, amazed, but he does follow Clint’s gesture as he waves towards a sizeable outcropping that should camouflage the boat as much as it can, seeing as the boat’s white and the shore is dismal.

As much as he and Bucky don’t always play nicely, they do work well together. Clint’s reminded of this as they work quietly in tandem to secure the boat, gather up the clanking tarp (Clint) and two duffel bags (Bucky), and climb over the rocks to see where they are.

It is, of course, some kind of woods. Forest. Park? Clint hopes it’s a park. Maybe a nice National Park with marked trails and a cabin or two. He’d even take a pavilion at this point. Christ, it’s cold. He’s well aware that it always feels colder out on the water - he’s _great_ at boats - but he’s soaked through to the bone and it does not feel any warmer here, on the shore of Lake Assbutt or wherever they are. He’s starting to shiver, which is never good for an archer who depends on his fingers. Christ, did Bucky even bring his bow?

“Alright.” Bucky looks _miserable,_ which cheers Clint up immediately. His hair is soggy, plastered to his cheeks, and he angrily wipes it away with his wrist while he glares at Clint as if it’s _Clint’s_ fault he doesn’t know how to get a haircut. “What now?”

“You’re the kidnapper,” Clint says cheerfully, because he knows it will make Bucky scowl again. That being said, it’s a valid question. It’s _shitting_ rain, he’s freezing, and he really still has no idea what’s going on or why Collins is chasing him. Plus, he’s getting hungry. 

“Let’s get into the woods,” Bucky says, and turns to stalk off as if he knows Clint will follow. Asshole.

**Author's Note:**

> Love you all! Second chapter is being voted / written right now -- take a look!


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